So Many Pond Memories
by girl in the glen
Summary: Icy and cold, knocked out and wondering why... Napoleon needs some help. Originally written for Section VII PicFic Tuesday on LJ. I've been unable to access this site for a while, am catching up. Stay tuned for the last of the New Year's Toast... soon.


The bright sunlight was deceptive. It gave the impression that things would be all right, that survival was possible. Napoleon Solo was beginning to doubt all of it; the sunshine, the prospect of being discovered and brought back to life.

_Was he dead? _

His body felt numb, so that might be an indicator of something. His head hurt. Napoleon had a slow recognition of the pain emanating from the back of his skull and harbored the slightest hope that dead men didn't have headaches.

_The ice._ The normally agile agent had slipped on the frozen pond and hit his head. Hard. That was the source of the pounding that now began to permeate his consciousness.

Why had he been on the ice?

_Chasing someone..._

_The shooter._ Someone had been shooting at them... Both of them. _Illya. _He and Illya had escaped from a THRUSH satrapy in this frigid wilderness, but not before the Russian had set a few explosives. One of the guards had managed to get out alive and had been tracking them across the snow covered hills as they headed for what was hoped would be a highway, or a town of some sort.

As the pair came to the top of a rise above a frozen pond a shot rang out. Illya moved too slowly and the bullet caught him in the leg, causing him to go down as blood poured out onto the snow. Gasping into the freezing air, he assured Napoleon that he was fine and urged his partner to go after the would be assassin. Napoleon took off at a swift pace considering the terrain. He could see the man, his rifle glinting in the sunlight. He saw something else that caused him to stop short; it also caused him to slip on the ice. Legs flew into the air as Napoleon fell hard, hitting his head on the solid surface.

Solo was remembering all of it now through the pain in his head. How long had he been out? Slowly he rose, fervently hoping that his head would not fly apart with the effort. He needed to get back to his partner, they needed to get out of this place. If what he had seen prior to landing on the ice was still out there. he and Illya might be in more danger than before.

Napoleon turned back towards where he had left Illya and was greeted by the sight of his partner limping towards him, a makeshift cane aiding the effort. The blond hailed him in a gesture meant to convey that he was, as previously stated, fine. Napoleon felt some relief at that, glad that his throbbing head was the only damage to his own body.

"Hey, we need to get out of here. I think our shooter is...'' Illya nodded. "Yes, I saw him... umm... I saw."

Napoleon shuddered at the memory.

"So, he's probably dead?" Illya nodded once more, grimacing in pain as he began walking away from the frozen pond.

"Hey, how do you know what direction to go?" Napoleon was used to letting his Russian wolfhound of a partner detect an unseen path, but they were in the middle of nowhere.

"I think away from there...' He waived his arm in the general direction of the THRUSH whose body now lay mangled in the blood stained snow..."is where we want to be. Don't you?" Napoleon turned to look once again at the grisly scene, glad that he had been on the ice and not close to the unfortunate man.

"You know, if that bear hadn't come out of the woods we might both be dead. I guess we owe him a debt of gratitude." Napoleon had mixed feelings about it, knowing that they had been at a disadvantage, in the open with a rifle aimed at them. Still, death by bear attack...

"I believe I hear our rescuers." Illya stopped to look towards the sound of a helicopter.

"How? I mean... how?" Napoleon knew there had been no communicators, so... how did he do it?

"I took one of the THRUSH communicators as we were making our escape. While you were napping I managed to locate the correct channel and ..."

"Napping? I was knocked unconscious while trying to catch that shooter." Illya smiled at the outburst.

"Knocked unconscious because you were too clumsy to walk on ice. I hardly think that qualifies as heroic, but ..." He shrugged his shoulders, further irritating the American.

"Ungrateful Russian. One of these days, Kuryakin..." His ire was circumvented by the arrival of the UNCLE chopper. Snow blew in every direction as it set down; the two men quickly climbed aboard and they were in flight within a few minutes. The ride back to Quebec was devoid of conversation. Napoleon glared at his partner as he slept, additional evidence to the blond's infuriating attitude.

By the time the UNCLE craft landed, an ambulance was waiting to transport the wounded agents to the hospital. Quebec lacked the amenities of the larger New York Headquarters, which meant that Solo and Kuryakin would be checked out by doctors who doubled as members of both the hospital and UNCLE staff. Strict orders were issued that each man would endure bed rest for at least twenty-four hours. Napoleon had a concussion and Illya's leg wound required periodic re-dressing. Neither of them were happy about it, but they obeyed orders without question.

As the partners lay in identical beds amidst the familiar smells of antiseptics and gauze, the senior agent was still thinking of the frozen pond, the unfortunate end that met their THRUSH adversary.

"Say Illya, do you think that bear would have eventually come after us? Napoleon still felt a little queasy as he saw once again the other man falling beneath the beast. Illya was thoughtful, a myriad of folk tales coming back to him as he considered his answer.

"No, I think not. It was probably a Russian bear and therefore sent to protect me, not devour a brother." That was said with all solemnity, setting off another string of questions in Napoleon's slightly addled brain.

"Brother, eh? Illya, sometimes..." The blond lay back on his pillows and fell immediately into a dream filled sleep, leaving Napoleon to wonder about bears and Russians...


End file.
